Be bold. Be fearless.

I don’t think we ever really need an excuse to reflect or turn our lamp inward to assess and to consider. Yet as the days are spent as much in shadow as in sun, and we mark the completion of the elliptical path of the earth, we can generally find such a reason to ponder our personal journeys as well. A year ago I committed to a new year’s resolution essentially not to make any specific goals for the year, not to try to confine my aspirations to a specific elusive routine, plan, or agenda.

And, indeed, I succeeded.

At times I might have temporarily relapsed and tried to write an algorithm for living my life, but I always surrendered these prescriptions in favour of living more organically, naturally, and less punitively. I finally accept that my spirit and moods don’t thrive caged by routine. It’s not to say I didn’t make general goals for the year which I compiled in a list and dutifully checked off to help steer my course, but they were more stones I placed on which I skipped across the stream, rather than some overarching plan. For example, I intended to write at least one blog and one Wellesley Underground interview a month, to read books on a list I made, to write my second novel and to submit my first, to earn pay for writing, and to do more music, all of which I completed. I also aimed to prioritize with the thought that should I perish in six months time, I would die without embracing regrets. I mentioned this philosophy to a friend recently who reminded me of it at a later meeting. I conveyed to her that my intent is to live such that when I die I’ll die with a true acceptance of my life and without wishing I had lived differently.

Be bold. Be fearless. My voice teacher advised me of these principles to live, or perhaps sing, by in a recent lesson. I think most of her instructions are geared more towards my approach to singing, but I find them even more relevant to moving through life.

Be bold. Be fearless. Should we die sooner rather than later, what would our legacy be? Is it what we would hope for it to be? What would our epitaph be? What truly matters to us? Would it be that we were beloved by a partner, family, and/or friends or would we want to be defined by some specific achievement? What do we value? What are our priorities? Do we try year after year to achieve the same aim (perhaps some number on a scale, either figuratively or literally)? How do we remove ourselves from possible recursive loops in which we might find ourselves? Or worse yet, an infinite (to) do-loop (sorry, I’ve spent most of my life computer programming)?

Maybe figuring out what we don’t want is easier than figuring out what we do want. I don’t want to be static. I don’t want to self-sabotage. A former voice teacher once told me she learned at a workshop that when we choose to spend our time one way, we choose not to pursue some alternate activity. This makes the question of self-sabotage difficult, because we might think we are acting to fulfill one dream, and yet this expenditure of time and energy might deprive us of satisfying another. I also think we make many choices in our life based on psychological blocks and saboteurs who reside in our heads. I know this is the root of my obstacles in music as well as elsewhere.

Be bold. Be fearless. I guess directing my life with these words as my guide is my new year’s resolution this year. Whatever your resolutions are, or if you choose not to make any, I wish you a bold, fearless, lovely journey.

Happy New Year!

Change

I am listening to Glenn Gould’s 1955 performance of Bach’s The Goldberg Variations. I grew up with Glenn (yes, we’re on a first name basis); the first recording given to me at the age of three or four was a recording of him playing piano, mostly Bach if I recall, and intended for young children. I can’t remember a time when he didn’t occupy a part of my life, when I hadn’t known of The Goldberg Variations. As it turns out, about eleven years ago I decided I liked the 1981 version best and usually listened to that rendition. I gave my PhD co-supervisor a boxed set of The Goldberg Variations when I graduated, since I listened to it almost daily during my graduate school years. But over the last few weeks I’ve turned to 1955. This might seem an insignificant change in my listening habits, but a change it is indeed.

Change. How comfortable are you with change? Do you follow a routine? Is it helpful? Is it comfortable? Or does it hold you back?

I’m not sure how comfortable we are with change. I’ve lived in seven cities in my life, some of them multiple times, not including the ones I lived in for a month to ten weeks, also some for multiple times. People say a constant in life is change. We grow older and have birthdays. We evolve. Many of the people in our lives change, especially for those of us who have lived peripatetic lifestyles. But then, would we want to stay stagnant? What if we ate the same meal every day for dinner? Wouldn’t the repetition become tiresome and loathsome? What if we listened to the same music and never added to our repertoire, or if we watched the same film every day?

I think we hold ourselves and others to an expectation that we will remain the same, but there is so much possibility for beauty if we embrace transitions in ourselves and in our lives. We can write our own new stories and learn. Isn’t acquiring and assimilating new information part of the process of building our selves? And should we hold on too dearly to the past, to our past selves, and even to our past dreams if we have adapted ourselves to new versions of ourselves with eyes for different possibilities?

I just finished watching the movie Her about a man, Theo, who falls in love with his artificially intelligent operating system, Samantha. It’s fascinating to see both Theo and Samantha develop and evolve, but I especially find Samantha’s development intriguing. She transcends her original purpose and discovers new colours in the palette of life. She possesses maturity and emotional curiosity, and her transition is a hyper-intelligent multidimensional coming-of-age story. I admire her independent thinking and lack of resistance to change. In fact, rather than loathe change and moving from her comfort zone, she enthusiastically experiments in a wide range of prospects for herself, intoxicated by the variegated experiences open to her.

I have to admit I’m becoming less resistant to the idea of change than I used to be. My New Year’s resolutions used to be lists of a daily routine I would prescribe to myself in the hopes of attaining a better life. They always soon failed, as most people’s New Year’s resolutions seem to do. But why would I want my life to be confined to predictability? Isn’t novelty what teases our senses? I used to nurse nostalgia for the past, especially the friends who have passed out of my life and have become lost. That too has ceased. Change is often the harbinger of discomfort and tragedy. And uncertainty and instability. This is true. But it is also the herald of possibilities and growing into new identities, carving out new niches in the landscape of experiences. Opening our awareness to new dimensions in life.

Some romances are lifelong attachments. As my husband and I grow, we adapt to each other and develop in compatible ways. And maybe I’m listening to a different recording of Glenn’s. I find the 1955 version of The Goldberg Variations to be stimulating, novel, and welcome. But Glenn is still with me on this journey.